“Oops,” I said. “Um. My bad. Sorry.”
“I also got a call from Homeland Security about problems across the state line, and word that an agent is on the way. I am not happy, folks.”
My heart did a fast three-beat trip before it fell. Homeland Security meant PsyLED. Which could mean Rick. Or not.
“I’ll need to start the necessary paperwork for PsyLED, so who wants to give me a report about the DBs in my county?”
As part of the new ruling affecting vamp hunters—unless the courts tossed it out on appeal—paperwork was required wherever there was a hunt for rogues or Naturaleza. Because it was an expense most money-strapped states could ill afford, few places had instituted it yet, but it seemed that Mississippi and Turpin had. It made my job harder, but, then, government always made things harder.
“I’ll drive into town and give a report later on today, ma’am,” Eli said.
“And I’ll inform the PsyLED agent we’ve checked in, belatedly,” I said, “and get the local MOC to send you notification. Thank you, ma’am.”
Grudgingly, Sylvia said to the pajamaed man who had been listening as we jockeyed for position, “While I hate to say anything nice about a bounty hunter in my county, we’ve received reports that Yellowrock saved your mother and two other citizens from a vampire attack. We might both want to think about that, Gordon.”
To me she said, “I’d appreciate it if you warned my people when you go hunting. We have a small number of good ol’ boys who think killing vampires is a nifty way to make some extra cash, and not all of them understand the difference between sane and legal vamps and the new, crazy kind. Add in a little illegal substance before they start shooting, and it’s been a problem. I have four locals in lockup now with charges pending for attacking Hieronymus’ people instead of the crazy ones he’s licensed for bounty. Hopefully that’s all of the dumb-asses, but you never know, so that warning, and open lines of communication, are paramount.”
“Yes, ma’am. Hunting vamps for bounties is dangerous,” I agreed. I mean, what else could I say? And the bounty was mine. I’d won the contract, so the good ol’ boys needed to take a backseat. I couldn’t figure out a way to say that so I kept my mouth shut. Go me.
“We’ve just instituted a mandatory curfew to keep the citizens safe, from sundown to dawn, but I’ll add you to the list of exceptions, along with law enforcement, fire, and hospital employees. We have enough problems in this county with missing-persons reports without adding in outsiders and hunting parties.”
“How many missing people?” Eli asked.
“If I count the homeless and transients, which I do, I’m looking at a little less than one-hundred twenty missing people. Missing humans.”
I had been hoping the numbers were skewed, but Turpin was right in line with Clark. Not good. Somewhere there was an unofficial graveyard full of dead people, and maybe some devoveo and revenants who might rise. More not good. Worse, somewhere else there were likely kidnapped, penned, and tortured humans who were being drained.
“We’ll call you with everything we learn, ma’am,” Eli said.
Turning to him, Turpin said, “Pleasure to meet you,” and handed Eli her card before she stepped down toward her car. Eli tucked it into his pocket with that odd look still on his face. The closest I could come to describing it was wonderment. Crap. Eli and the sheriff. And he liked her in a very carnal way, if the smells wafting from his pores were an indication. That could possibly help things, but I was betting that it would only complicate matters. We all stood staring out the front door until the three sheriff’s deputy cars pulled away.
Gordon and Eli both turned to me, Gordon getting in the first words. “I apologize. I assumed you had made an end run around me and the system I set up to protect my mother. And, had you not been here tonight, Mother would have likely gone out with the brainless duo anyway and might have . . .” He stopped as the realization hit him.
“No might. She would have died,” I stated. “You’re welcome. And if someone sends an anonymous report to the sheriff, that duo could end up in jail on multiple charges for drug possession. I hate to send them to the county lockup, but that might protect your mother.”
“And keep them from blowing up half the county,” Eli added.
“I’ll call Sylvia tomorrow,” Gordon said. “Thank you again. But please take this in the spirit I intend it. When this job is finished, you aren’t welcome back here.”
“Got it,” I said. Gordon shushed into the dark. I looked at Eli, who was again holding Turpin’s card like he’d won the lottery. “She’s pretty,” I said.
He gave me the usual quirky half smile instead of the bigger one he’d given her. “Yeah. And she likes guns. She was carrying three, an H and K nine mil under one arm, a small semi in her spine holster, and something on her ankle, under her pants.”
“A match made in heaven,” I said.
“Or on the shooting range. Hope she likes coffee.”
“She does. Black.” At his questioning look, I gave a hand shrug and said, “I smelled it on her. She’s been mainlining the crappy stuff they keep in cop shops for hours.” Eli grinned happily, real emotion on his dark-skinned face. The last time I’d seen that much mobility on his features, I’d just kicked his butt in the dojo. “I’ll hire some backup to keep watch so you can get some sleep.”
“No need. I’m good,” he said. But I was sure he only half heard me. He was thinking about Sylvia again, in a most erotic way. I shook my head and went back upstairs to my bed. I had about two hours before I had to get dressed for my next meeting with Big H, and I wasn’t feeling all fresh and daisyfied. I needed to be at my best when I made my next call to Leo and also when I set up the med clinic to treat the sick vamps.
I texted Clark about the legal paperwork and to ask about the unnamed she our Cajun fanghead had mentioned, stripped off my pants, and was climbing into bed when a knock sounded. I was marginally presentable and I covered my bare legs. “Come in.”
The Kid opened the door, the hallway dark behind him, his face and white T-shirt lit with the bluish light from the laptop he was cradling. He was wearing flannel SpongeBob SquarePants pajama bottoms, and I held in my grin. “I found something I think you need to see,” he said. He walked into my room uninvited, flipped on the switch at the door, which turned on the bedside light, and handed me the laptop. An Internet file was open. “If you tell my brother, I’ll be in trouble, but I drilled into Camilla Hopkins’ publisher’s Web site and found this on her editor’s PC.”
“Drilled?” I asked. He shrugged. “Hacked is soooo yesterday,” I said. He shrugged again, not making eye contact, and pointed to the laptop.
It was a book proposal created by Misha, and it was very different from the one I’d seen in her hotel room. Under the section title about research on vamp blood was a new listing of research papers, all papers written by human researchers on vampire blood for medical research.
I skimmed down until the word jumped out at me. Leukemia.
The Kid said, “Several docs are proposing that vamp blood might cure leukemia,” he said.
Recently, I’d met a Cajun preacher man who claimed that vamp blood had cured his cancer, though it had taken a long time and a lot of blood, a debt he was still paying off years later. I thought of Charly, her body thin and her hair already falling out. I wasn’t sure, but I thought hair didn’t fall out until later rounds of chemo. The stuff Charly was on was pure poison, and it had only a slight chance of curing her. But maybe mixed with vamp blood . . .